


Seconds and Minutes

by willneverbeordinary



Category: Hannibal (TV) RPF
Genre: Fluff, Hugh takes Mads' hand and places it at the small of his back, M/M, and what am I to do with that information??, during one of the takes when filming the 'kiss' between Hannibal and Will, granted I had to write this, poetic fluff, undskyld
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-26
Updated: 2015-11-26
Packaged: 2018-05-03 12:50:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5291513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/willneverbeordinary/pseuds/willneverbeordinary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mads and Hugh are filming the 'kiss scene' between Will and Hannibal for the finale of season 3. </p>
<p>
  <i>"Mads isn’t the one to pull the two of them closer. Hugh is. Will is. And Mads’ focus is split right down the middle, divided in equal measures of roaring, roiling emotions, with one part focusing on how Hannibal is feeling every single, little touch and taking in every last one of Will’s expressions, like the most precious gifts, and the other part thoroughly distracted by the way Hugh is breathing raggedly and heavily and grasping and clutching at Mads’ clothes."</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seconds and Minutes

**Author's Note:**

> There was [more footage](https://vk.com/russianfannibals?z=video-76100368_171531585%2F75770bab052eca23bd) which leaked and how could I help myself? I simply had to write this little drabble.

Hugh keeps leaning in, a fraction closer each time. At times his lips tug into a tiny smile, such an almost shy, little thing and Mads can’t help smiling in turn. His gaze tracks the shifts in Hugh’s expression, fluttering eyelids and parting lips, and he leans in when the other man does.

Mads isn’t the one to pull the two of them closer. Hugh is. Will is. And Mads’ focus is split right down the middle, divided in equal measures of roaring, roiling emotions, with one part focusing on how Hannibal is feeling every single, little touch and taking in every last one of Will’s expressions, like the most precious gifts, and the other part thoroughly distracted by the way Hugh is breathing raggedly and heavily and grasping and clutching at Mads’ clothes.

They repeat the scene over and over and Mads’ breathing falls apart more and more and he feels Hugh’s gaze on his lips like a tingle, as if the beats of their hearts generate a tiny spark of electricity in the air between them. He feels the points where they touch, where Hugh’s fingers press against his arms, like a brand searing deeper and deeper. He digs his fingers into the fabric of the shirt Hugh is wearing and he does not pull them closer together.

His own lines crumbles into garble and incoherence on shaky exhales and trembling inhales and the answering line ‘it’s beautiful’ is nothing but a rushed admission, almost carelessly thrown past parted lips before the warm and solid weight of Hugh crashes into his arms. Mads presses his cheek to the damp and dirty curls of Hugh’s hair. His fingers almost cramps around their hold on bloodied fabric. He does not pull them closer together.

As well as Mads can control his body and his expressions, from a single tear rolling down his cheek to micro sneers, he cannot possibly hope to control the forceful extra beat of his heart that swells in an almost painful thud in his chest as Hugh’s right hand moves up his shoulder, something in-between a caress and desperate clutching, and Hugh digs his fingers in, not just clutching at the fabric of the sweater but pressing them firmly into Mads’ arm. Hugh drops his head to Mads’ shoulder and Mads gently nuzzles him, a sort of loving headbutt with his cheek against the top of Hugh’s head all the while his heart races. His fingers twist and turn around a handful of fabric, but nothing more. Until Hugh pries his hand loose, grabs his arm and yanks it. Mads fingers splay and then gather as he feels his hand placed at the small of Hugh’s back. At first he presses. And then he grabs. He presses his face to Hugh’s neck, hides away where it meets the shoulder, and he lets his lips touch naked skin.

This time he does pull them closer together. This time they don’t repeat the scene but stay wrapped up in each other’s embrace, all wildly beating hearts and tingling skin. Mads’ hand stays where Hugh placed it and he keeps his eyes shut and he feels Hugh pressed so closed against him. The two parts in Mads’ mind crumbles then, and fall into each other and collapses in a mess of want and relief in equal measures.

It’s nearing three or four in the morning. There is a world out there and out there seconds and minutes keep chasing each other, the present ever eager to capture the elusive future who keeps running away. A world where the sun and the moon meets only briefly before having to part again. Yet, for just a little while, they have stepped outside of that world. For just a little while, with Mads’ hand pressed against the small of Hugh’s back and Hugh pressing himself so close, they are in their own, little world. There, seconds and minutes catch up and stand still and the two of them meet for just a moment before they have to inevitably move apart again; celestial bodies that met by chance and only briefly get to cross paths.


End file.
